Own the Wind (Chaos, #1)(93)

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” she said. “I know another man who’d walk a tightrope. It’s just, you seriously butted heads over crushed ice. You may need to share your thoughts about holy matrimony and what you foresee with building your family.”

She was right about that too. There had been heartbreak and drama, and now Shy and I were coasting on a wave of goodness broken only when we fought about fridges, or his bossiness hit the danger zone and we had to have words. We hadn’t talked about any of this, and it was important.

“He wants to build a family,” I told her.

She stopped us before we hit the kitchen and looked at me. “I know that, honey, but he could be thinking six kids while you’re thinking two.”

Yes, Shy and I needed to have this conversation, because no way I was having six kids and he missed his family so much, this was a possibility.

I nodded. “You’re right, Ty-Ty.”

She grinned and we both moved down the hall.

Once there, I saw Dad and Shy in the kitchen, both taking pulls off their beers. Both wearing black tees, faded jeans, and motorcycle boots. Both exuding badassness. Both beloved by me.

It was a happy sight.

It had been said, repeatedly, that women found their fathers in their men.

Luckily, when I did just that, I had a good man to find.

It had also been said that men found their mothers.

I hoped, with the way he talked about her, Shy felt the same.

I hoped this for about a second when he dropped his beer, his eyes came to me and his chin dipped, saying nonverbally I was to go to him.

I went there, he curved an arm around me, pulled me in close, and bent to put his lips to my hair. “You ready to go home?” he asked and I melted into him.

I loved it when he held me and spoke into my hair.

I loved it when he called the house we shared our home.

And I loved it that he finally had a home.

“Yeah,” I mumbled into his throat, and he kissed my hair.

I looked to Dad and Tyra and saw Tyra had a small smile playing around her mouth, her expression warm.

Dad wasn’t smiling. I saw his eyes were intense but they were not conflicted.

He was happy. He was happy I had someone and he was happy that person was Shy, a man he understood, a man he could trust, a man who would go all out to protect his daughter.

A man who would walk a tightrope for me.

A brother.

“You have a good night, Dad?” I asked, and his eyes moved from Shy’s arm around my shoulders to me.

“Yeah, darlin’,” he answered then, “Come here and give your old man some love before you go, yeah?”

I moved out of Shy’s arm into my father’s. He tucked me close and kissed the top of my head.

“Thanks for lookin’ after the boys,” he murmured into my hair, I closed my eyes and nodded.

“Anytime,” I whispered.

“Love you, Tabby,” he said, giving me a squeeze. He curled me out and back to Shy before he looked to Shy and said, “Safe home.”

“Right,” Shy said, leaned in, kissed Tyra’s cheek then, amidst waves and good-byes, we went out to my car.

We’d pulled out of the drive and were winding through the curving roads that led down the wooded mountain from Dad and Ty-Ty’s house when Shy announced, “Three and, babe, firm on that.”

I looked from the wooded darkness outside the car to my man.

“Three what?” I asked.

“Kids,” he answered then continued. “And marriage. Firm on that too.”

My stomach flipped.

Shy went on but when he did, it wasn’t an announcement. It was soft.

“I know you lost it all right before the big event, sugar, and you said you weren’t gonna do it again. I’m just sayin’, it means somethin’ to me so you are.”

“Shy—” I tried but he kept going.

“You lost that guy, that’s always gonna sting, I get that. But that is not gonna happen again and I want a ring on your finger, my ring. I wear yours. I want every time you look at your hand to remember you belong to me. I want every time I look at mine to remember I belong to you. Same when we see each other’s hands. You want a small shindig, I’m down with that but I’ll say now, I’d rather have a blowout.”

I was stuck on something he said earlier.

That guy.

That guy.

He always, but always, called Jason “that guy”.

“His name was Jason,” I said gently and carefully.

Shy glanced my way before glancing back to the road and asking, “What?”

“His name was Jason,” I repeated. “He wanted two kids. He’d never own a Harley even though I had schemes of finding ways to get him to buy one. He loved me. We were getting married and now he’s dead.”

Shy reached out a hand, found mine, and squeezed. “Tabby—”

“He loved me and would want you for me.”

The air in the car went still.

Then Shy started again, “Sugar—”

I squeezed his hand and interrupted, “That’s how much he loved me. He’d want you for me. He’d want me to be this happy.”

Shy was silent.

I let the car be that way for long moments before I looked to the road and told him, “Three kids is perfect and I want a big shindig, so it’s all good.”